


Fear of Failure (or of Love)

by Lonely_starlight_dreams



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonely_starlight_dreams/pseuds/Lonely_starlight_dreams
Summary: It came out of nowhere.Of course it did.Anything even slightly visible would’ve been dead by now. It hadn’t been visible. It had come out of nowhere.He didn’t see the result of his failure. He heard it.God, did he hear it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 621





	Fear of Failure (or of Love)

It came out of nowhere.

Of course it did.

Anything even slightly visible would’ve been dead by now. It hadn’t been visible. It had come out of nowhere.

He didn’t see the result of his failure. He heard it. 

_ God _ , did he hear it.

It wasn’t a shriek, or a cry. It wasn’t even a scream. No, it was something similar, yet so much worse.

Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe there hadn’t been a third werewolf. Maybe the townsfolk had been correct in assuming only two werewolves resided in these forests. Maybe everything was fine.

Geralt should’ve guessed the townspeople didn’t know  _ shit _ . He should’ve paid more attention before bringing the bard along. The Witcher had always known that, one day, he would pay for his carelessness. He never imagined it would be  _ Jaskier _ who would be paying for it. 

That’s when he heard the noise, and that’s when a body hit the floor.

“JASKIER.” He yelled, running towards the bard. He couldn’t see the blood yet, but he knew it was there. He could smell it.

Silver met fur and flesh and bone. The fighting was over. It didn’t matter. His failure was already complete.

The werewolf’s body slumped to the floor with a thud. The noise was almost as loud as Geralt’s heart, beating so slow yet _so fast_ and it was all too much.

“Fuck.  _ Jaskier _ .” Geralt fell to his knees. His failure began to seep slowly through the fabric of his pants onto his skin, onto his heart. It was  _ red _ and it was  _ cold _ and it was  _ too much _ .

Wide, blue eyes stared terrified at golden ones. More of Geralt’s failure trickled out of Jaskier’s mouth and down his chin in crimson streams, and it was just like the last time. Just like the time his carelessness nearly killed. This time it seemed it would. This time there was no one there to save them.

There was nothing Geralt could do but sit and pull the bard up against his chest and press a hand firmly on his stomach to try to stop the bleeding and—

“I-I’m s-sorry,” Jaskier said and all Geralt could do was growl at the man. The man he  _ failed _ .

“Don’t you dare, Jaskier. Don’t. You. Dare.” Anger filled his entire being but he knew it was unfair. Everything about this was unfair. It was always supposed to be  _ him _ . Geralt was always going to be the one to die like this. He lived his entire life knowing that fact. It wasn’t  _ fair _ . 

“You stupid fucking  _ idiot _ . Just couldn’t stay in town. Had to follow me here.” Geralt was angry. He knew how to be angry; he was good at it. If he let go of his anger now, he didn’t know what he’d be left with.   
“Oh y-you know me Geralt. Always looking for the next big stor—'' fatal sounding coughs overtook Jaskier’s entire body and the Witcher could only hold onto him tighter.

“Wouldn’t miss travelling with you for the world.” And the worst part of it all was that Geralt almost believed him. He almost believed that somebody could actually enjoy his presence, and his monosyllabic answers, and his fucking  _ stench _ , and his way of pushing anyone remotely good out of his life, and—

“I’m sorry Jaskier. I’m so fucking sorry.” It came out of his mouth faster than he could comprehend.

“Ha. Never thought I’d ever hear you say...that.” Those vibrant blue eyes were fading. They weren’t supposed to do that. Geralt wouldn’t allow them to. He pushed even harder on the wound and held him even closer to his chest.

“ _ No _ . Jaskier. Stop.” The bard laughs, but only a little. His head rolled loosely from his neck and his body was slack. Soon everything that kept Jaskier tight as the strings on his lute would be gone.

“You’re my greatest friend...Geralt. ” He brought a hand up to his Witcher’s face and painted the pure red  _ failure _ onto his cheek. Then the hand was gone. And so was he.

“Jaskier. No. You can’t—  _ Jaskier _ .” It’s as if his name was permanently a part of Geralt’s tongue. He couldn’t continue on for a second without it forcing its way out into the open air and into the forest where Geralt sat and Jaskier slept.

“You fucker. Jas—  _ I told you _ ,” Geralt said. “I told you that nothing good would come of this.”

He knew there was no one left to talk to, and yet his mouth refused to believe it and kept moving.

“You never  _ listened _ . You just kept— you were always talking,” the Witcher laughed with no true emotion behind it. “Now I can’t...I can’t stand the silence. And it’s all your  _ fault _ .”

Geralt had begun to lightly rock back and forth, still clutching the man as if somehow the pressure would bring him back. Bring Jaskier back to him. Where he belonged.

“Jaskier, I’m  _ sorry _ .” 

Witchers aren’t supposed to feel emotions. Witchers were supposed to care only for coin and for ale and for  _ surviving _ . Witchers were supposed to be alone. At the moment, Geralt couldn’t give a fuck about what he was supposed to be. What he  _ needed _ to be was with Jaskier. What he needed to be was in pain.

“You were  _ right _ .” Geralt spat bitterly. “You were right all along and you knew it. I  _ do _ feel, and it fucking  _ hurts _ .

“It hurts because you’re gone. And it hurts because it should’ve been  _ me _ .” The Witcher’s rocking had stopped, as if his words had lifted his trance and had fully set in his reality. Slowly, as slowly as his heart beats, Geralt released his hold on the bard.  _ His _ bard. He never got the chance to admit it and now it was too late. 

Reality stole his speech and all he could do was wordlessly move to lay Jaskier down on the ground, as gently as he possibly could. Blue eyes met blue sky and Geralt couldn’t bear to look at the man anymore. He turned his back to the evidence of the one thing he truly cared for. He turned away from the one he was unable to protect...

“Well let’s not be too hard on ourselves there, Geralt.” A gravelly voice caused Geralt to unsheathe his silver sword once more and point it at the neck of the one person he’d least expected to see.

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down! Geralt it’s okay, it’s me! Jaskier! You remember, the professional pain in your arse, gorgeous singer—”

“I’m giving you 10 seconds to turn back into whatever the  _ fuck _ you are before I cut your head off. Do you understand?” There was no room for any emotion other than  _ rage _ in the Witcher’s voice. That’s all he had left at that moment.

“What? Geralt! I’m not a monster, I’m just me!” Whatever took the likeness of Jaskier seemed astonished by the Witcher’s accusation.

“Think about it Geralt. Really  _ think _ for once. How long have I been travelling with you?” Jaskier inquired. “ _ Four decades _ . It’s been four decades since the first time we met. Doesn’t that sound like an awfully long time? Well maybe not for you, you’re a Witcher after all and you—”

“That means nothing. What are you trying to prove?” The Witcher’s voice was laced with malice for whatever creature  _ dared _ to copy his bard’s image and mock him in this way. He pushed his sword closer towards the bard’s throat, who then moved back slightly onto his elbows.

“I said I was eighteen when we met. If it’s been forty years, I would be  _ fifty-eight _ . Any other human would’ve gotten gray hairs by now, or wrinkles, or a bad back, or— you get my point! Don’t you find it odd I’ve been able to continue travelling with you all this time?”

“What are you?” Geralt’s voice still held all of the anger he felt, but it left a small space for confusion from what he was being told.

“...I don’t know. I honestly don’t Geralt, you have to believe me! I only know one thing: I can’t die.” Silence fell between the two of them as blue eyes pleaded to golden ones for Geralt to  _ believe him _ . To drop the sword and drop his barriers and to just embrace him. And that’s exactly what he did.

Silver met dirt as Geralt’s knees fell to the floor once more, but this time in utter disbelief and joy. Geralt held Jaskier’s face in both hands and searched his eyes for any sign that this wasn’t real. That his brain was playing tricks on him in response to his grief.

“Jaskier?” he asked quietly, almost not wanting to know the answer.

“It’s me, Geralt. I promise it’s me. It’s okay. I’m sorry for scaring you.” And that’s all he needed to pull Jaskier to his chest and cling on for dear life.

“You fucking  _ bastard _ . I thought I lost you.” Jaskier just chuckled lightly and hugged his Witcher just as tightly.

“Yes, well, I accept your apology too Geralt. No need to insult me in my dying hours.” The Witcher’s only response was to pull back and hit him on the shoulder, drawing forth further laughter from Jaskier.

“I told you, you silly man. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Hopefully now you’ll believe me.” And if Geralt nearly killed Jaskier all over again with the force of his kiss, the bard didn’t seem to be complaining.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I might make this into a multi-chaptered story and explore more into what Jaskier is, but for now I'm really proud of what I've written!
> 
> Tumblr: lonely-starlight-dreams


End file.
